


Back Where We Belong

by auchterlonie, epeeblade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Phil Coulson, Clint Needs a Hug, Feels, M/M, References to Homophobia, SHIELD, Time Travel, prom drama, teenage Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auchterlonie/pseuds/auchterlonie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra sent agents back in time to kill a young Phil Coulson at his prom. Clint traveled back as well, stopping Hydra and making a powerful first connection with the young pre-agent. Perhaps, too much of a connection. Modern day SHIELD is a different place since the events of New York. Phil and Clint's relationship is no longer secret. Nor is it fully accepted. A bullied Phil is sent back in time to stop Clint from making that first connection, potentially ending their love before it ever had a chance to form. Can love endure SHIELD and time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Back to Phil's Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/909846) by [epeeblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade). 
  * Inspired by [So We Meet Again For the First Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/940287) by [epeeblade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade). 



> This story is completely inspired by epeeblade's Time Travelin' Clint series - in particular, the stories 'Back to Phil's Future' and its sequel, 'So We Meet Again For The First Time.' I borrowed about 700 words from these works in order to maintain some continuity (and listed epeeblade as coauthor accordingly). I highly encourage any reader to check out those works, but please note that my story here is just inspired by and not meant to replace epeeblade's canon.
> 
> And, as always, thanks to epeeblade not only for the inspiration, but the beta as well. ;-) All errors are my own.
> 
> I rated this teen and up because of foul language.

Phil Coulson’s morning was not going the way he had planned.

He and Clint had arrived at Headquarters that morning, coffees in hand, ready for the day’s business. They’d shared a nice walk from his apartment to stretch the romance of the previous evening just a bit longer, but Phil’s mind became more serious as they approached HQ. You didn’t become a Level 7 agent by gossiping.

At least… you didn’t used to.

Phil and Clint approached security as they did every morning, but as they passed through this time, Phil caught the guards sharing looks and smirking. It was the third time this week they’d done so and Phil was getting tired of it.

He was no stranger to homophobia. He’d joined the army long before the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell era. He’d experienced the looks, the comments, the innuendo, and occasionally a lot worse. But he always let his skill and commitment speak for him and it was never questioned by those he actually served with. Just ask Nick Fury.

But there was always some asshole or other, ranked either above or below him, who had a problem with him based on bigotry alone. It was one of the reasons he made the move to S.H.I.E.L.D. The same bigoted undercurrents could still be found, but fortunately, these tended to be confined to the lower ranks. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no use for the closed-minded and those undercurrents were more often than not a barrier to promotion.

Of course, that was all before Nick Fury’s demotion.

After New York, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s oversight committee had taken over daily operations. Good agents had been marginalized and obedient ones had been promoted. The message was quite clear; while the old S.H.I.E.L.D. praised effective problem solving, the new S.H.I.E.L.D. praised unthinking adherence to orders.

Phil turned to eyeball the security guard. He wasn’t one to go looking for confrontation, but if this probationary door minder had a problem with him, he’d like to hear about it. Perhaps this would give them both an opportunity to clear the air.

The guard met and held his stare, his smile broadening as he did. He stepped an inch closer to Phil, almost daring him to provoke a fight. Phil didn’t feel particularly threatened, but after several days of this crap, a ‘conversation’ of sorts was clearly necessary.

“Um, Phil?”

“Yes, Barton?”

“Um…. Look around.”

Phil paused and then looked around the room. At least 15 S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers stood in a loose, circling formation, weapons at the ready and all eyes on Phil and Clint. The main entrance doors were banded in red light, indicating lock down, and the defensive pylons outside had been quietly raised. 

“What is this?” he asked of the room in general.

“I’m going to need your weapons, s _irs_ ,” the guard he’d previously been eyeballing said to the back of his head. Phil turned around to face him.

“What is going on here?”

The guard kept his vicious smile on his face and stepped up to be nose to nose with Phil. “I’m not going to ask again. _Sir_.”

Phil held the guard’s stare and tried to think. What could have provoked this situation and what would end it with the least damage?

An elevator at the far end of the hall binged open and another Agent stepped out.

“Agents Coulson and Barton, you will turn over your weapons and come with me. Now.”

“Phil?” Clint asked, his tone of voice indicating that fight or flight, Clint was with him whatever decision he made right now. Phil thought of the blood bath that would occur. He was vaguely confidant he and Clint could take these 15 guards, but at what cost? It would be messy. Lives would be lost. But the whole situation was far too confusing to warrant that reaction just yet.

“Stand down, Barton,” he said, never taking his eyes from the guard. He unclipped his pistol and handed it to him, never conceding even an inch of his close position. Barton did the same, turning over his gun and several knives.

“Good choice for you and your boyfriend, _sir_. Wouldn’t want the wedding photos to be in a hospital room.”

Phil almost laughed at that one. The guard clearly had no idea who he was facing and besides, Phil had heard worse than that from his first drill sergeant, long before his orientation was even known.

 “I’ll take the coffee, too. _Sir,”_ the guard added, removing the warm paper cup from Phil’s hand. He slowly breathed in the aroma and took a sip. “Mmmmm…” he said in exaggerated delight. “Thank you.”

For that, however, Phil wanted to kill him on the spot.

Instead, as always, he took the higher road and moved towards the waiting Agent.  Clint followed and stayed no more than a step behind him. They boarded the elevator and went down into the lowest reaches of S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.

***

Phil had been sitting alone in an interrogation room for at least 4 hours already, all without his coffee. How he wished he’d been able to finish that first cup before they’d arrived at HQ, but Clint had insisted on taking advantage of the nice morning on their walk from Phil’s place. They’d added a few blocks to their route in order pass the park and so, had to stop in the coffee shop near HQ instead of sitting in their usual place like civilized people. Barton and his sentimentality…

Not that he’d have it any other way, really. Barton’s sentimentality was one of his most endearing traits. Still… as Phil noted the time creep into his fifth solitary hour, he really missed that coffee.

The door opened and Agent Scott walked in. Phil knew him to be a smart guy, but one who had spent years languishing as a Level 3 agent. He had a real chip on his shoulder and a lot of disdain for Phil, both personally and professionally. He’d been leading the crowd in the snickering over him and Clint.

Scott laid a folder on the table, but did not open it. Instead, he sat across from Phil, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched, sizing Phil up. This was Scott’s tough guy routine and Phil was anything but impressed. He relaxed his shoulders and made himself a bit more comfortable.

“I’ve just had a very interesting conversation with Mr. Barton,” Scott started.

Phil chuckled. “I bet. Clint’s known to be a real conversationalist.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed. He’s told me quite a bit about your relationship. How you met, how you brought him to S.H.I.E.L.D. How you’ve been … his savior all these years. It was all very touching.”

He paused to let Phil comment, but Phil remained silent. He was determined to not take any of this mall cop’s bait. Phil was confidant of his service record. What he’d done for S.H.I.E.L.D. over the years spoke for itself. Some bureaucrat’s misguided sense of morality bothered him not in the least. If they were going to fire him over his relationship with Clint, well… let them. The two of them could find and join Fury, Cap, or heck, even Tony Stark tomorrow and get back to the business of saving the world. There was no reason to drag this dog and pony show on forever.

Scott nodded at the silent answer and opened the folder. “So why don’t you tell me about the first time you met Clint Barton.”

“It’s detailed in his personnel file,” Phil said, smiling politely.

Scott smiled politely back. “I’m not talking about his recruitment, Mr. Coulson.”

“ _Agent_ Coulson,” Phil calmly corrected.

Scott smiled at him. “We’ll see about that. For now, I’d like you to tell me about the _actual_ first time you met him.”

Phil paled just a little bit, not because of the circumstances of first meeting Clint Barton, but because he was suddenly very aware that he had no idea what this interrogation was about.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

 “Let me help you, Agent,” Scott began, smiling and relishing the point he’d scored in this little game of theirs. “You were seventeen and at your high school prom. Clint Barton jumped in to save you from a group of time-traveling Hydra operatives. Does that jog your memory?”

Phil was suddenly very concerned about what was happening, but refused to let it show on his face. He thought back quickly over the events and tried to figure out why Scott and the committee were so interested in the events of 1979. Everything had gone off without a hitch. What game were they playing?

***

_It was 1979 and Phil was at his high school prom._

_He’d spotted a couple of squares hanging around the gym, eyeing everyone in the room. It didn’t take a genius to guess they were up to no good, but everyone was too preoccupied with preening, dancing or puking to notice. Luckily, Phil was doing none of those things._

_Carrie, his extremely bored date, had been pushed almost to her limit. It wasn’t that Phil had set out to ignore her… but the squares! They were clearly up to no good. How could he dance, or drink punch, or care what her girlfriends were doing later when these guys clearly needed to be watched. Phil had a duty to protect his fellow classmates, didn’t he?_

_“I’m sorry, Carrie. We’ll get some punch but first I have to check something out.”_

_She’d sighed in protest, but followed him as he’d gone to explore._

***

“We learned Hydra agents had gone back in time with orders to find and kill me. Clint volunteered to go back and stop them. Obviously… he succeeded,” Phil said, still trying to figure out what Scott wanted in all this.

“Yes, Mr. Coulson. I…”

“Agent Coulson,” Phil calmly corrected.

“So you keep saying… I have read the ops report. It reads like no mission has ever gone more smoothly. Mr. Barton…”

“Agent Barton,” Phil calmly corrected. Scott huffed just a little bit, the frustration of being interrupted already beginning to bother him. Amateur.

“Barton went back in time, found his targets quickly, and returned without any complications.”

Phil nodded. “That’s how I remember it as well.”

“Now why I do doubt that?”

“Inexperience?” Phil suggested.

Scott’s lips thinned and his nostrils flared just enough for Phil to know he was getting to him. He smiled. He had to amuse himself somehow.

“Let’s cut to the chase here, shall we? I read this mission report and thought to myself, wow, this Clint Barton must be some badass son of a bitch to handle all that without a single complication. So I went back and read his personnel file. You’re all over it, _Agent_ Coulson. It seems I can’t read a page without finding your name on it.”

“Well, as his handler, I’ve written nearly every report in that file, so of course my name is on every page,” Phil said.

“Yes… well that’s what got me wondering if we have a chicken and egg scenario here,” Scott replied, smiling with a bit of pride at the confusion on Phil’s face. “See…” he started, pushing back in his chair a bit, “what I’d really like to know is who is to blame for changing the future? You or Barton?”

“The Hydra agents were all eliminated and I lived to see Barton return from the mission. If you’re worried he told me something about the future while he was in 1979, you don’t have to. Aside from a Terminator reference I wouldn’t get for several years, he was a professional and kept me in the dark.”

“That’s interesting phrasing and part of what I’m wondering about.” Scott leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “You have demonstrated quite an unnatural level of interest in Mr. Barton.”

“Agent Barton,” Phil corrected, not liking Scott’s tone of voice when he’d said ‘unnatural.’

“It seems you’ve been up his ass since the day he got here, walking him through tests and exercises, making sure he was always well equipped and looked after… quite the special treatment.”

“Perhaps the reason you never rose above Level 3 was because you considered that to be special treatment.”

Phil smiled and Scott smiled back.

“My point, Agent Coulson, is that your meeting Agent Barton in 1979 colored your later meetings with him. You showed him unnatural interest and favoritism. And now it’s my job to determine which one of you is to blame. Either Mr. Barton…”

“Agent Barton.”

“Enough of that! Either _Mr_. Barton found and groomed a scared teenager – one who would later grow up and take care of him in some of sick return scenario - or you developed such an obsessive interest that when you finally found him, you groomed the vulnerable teenager into living out the fantasies you’d spent a decade dreaming up.”

So this was Scott’s play. He’d chosen his words carefully, every one of them designed to elicit an angry, emotional response.

And it worked.

Phil was over the table before Scott had seen him react. He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the glass window behind, hard enough to shatter it. They both fell through and out into the hall behind. A guard who had been posted reacted and tried to pull them apart, but wasn’t able to do so before Phil had bloodied Scott’s nose and terrified the living hell out of him.  The guard dragged Phil off him and cuffed him, slamming a knee into his neck and holding him immobile. From his angle on the floor Phil could see down the hall, where an unconscious Clint was lying in a rather similar position.

‘Aw, Clint,’ Phil thought. ‘Always the conversationalist.’

Phil was then lifted unceremoniously and hurled back into his chair. Scott struggled to stand, red-faced and bleeding here and there. He came back into the room slowly, holding his nose in place. He looked at Phil who sat smiling and looking remarkably comfortable despite the cuffs. Scott held his distance as he collected his folder.

“Agent Coulson,” he said with the element of snark missing. “No matter what your personal feelings might be on the matter, the simple fact is that the future – your future – was changed by Clint Barton that day. We cannot sit around and allow that to continue. Your 1979 self cannot have any contact with him. We will be sending a team to go back and eliminate the Hydra agents before you can become aware of them. And as for Mr…” his eyes nervously twitched up at Phil “I mean Agent Barton, he will be stopped as well.”

Phil leaned forward in his seat and several guards who had come to stand near Scott leaned forward as well. Phil looked at them and held his position. He looked at Scott. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means they will eliminate the Hydra agents before Agent Barton gets the chance to and, then, they will ask him to return to his own time without making contact with you. If he refuses, the team has orders to prevent him making contact.”

“They’ll kill him,” Phil clarified coldly.

“Yes, but it’s really academic. He’ll cease to exist once they’ve succeeded in preventing you meeting him.”

That hit Phil like a ton of bricks. They weren’t talking about ending his and Clint’s relationship. They were talking about ending _them_. All of his pride, all of his games, all of his calm went out the window.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! What the fuck, Scott?”

“The decision has already been made. We could kill you here and now if we want, but again, it’s academic. You’ll cease to exist once the mission is successful. We all will.”

“And that sounds like a good plan to you?! We’ll all just cease to exist?” The implications were simply staggering. Who in their right mind could ever even conceive such a plan, let alone authorize it.

“Yes,” Scott said simply, suddenly more serious and even a little sad. That reaction drove the reality of his situation home for Phil.

 “You’re completely serious?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re banking on some unknown future! How can you possibly know it will be better than the one we have right now?”

Scott looked at him with all the seriousness of the world. “Because after New York, Agent Coulson, and after everywhere your Avengers have provoked city-wide destruction… it has to be.” 

 Phil went numb. “How can you believe my meeting Clint or my recruiting Clint to S.H.I.E.L.D. could possibly be responsible for all that. Or any of that? We’re just two agents doing our jobs.”

“Maybe,” Scott said, nodding. “But you, Agent Coulson, are also the only common thread between them. You and the S.H.I.E.L.D. you helped build. We need to be sure you weren’t compromised. We need you to grow up with no knowledge of Clint Barton.”

“Then let me go,” Phil demanded, getting desperate.

Scott shook his head. “We’re not going to let you just walk out of here, Agent Coulson.”

“No, let me go on the mission. You said it yourself, it’s academic. I’m going to cease to be anyway. Let me go, let me fix this mess without S.H.I.E.L.D. deploying a hit team to a high school. Besides, you know damn well Barton sees your team, he’s going to think it’s a trick and resist. But he’ll listen to me. I’m the only one he’ll listen to.”

Scott was thinking fast, trying to find the downside. He may have been an asshole, but even he didn’t like the idea of putting a team around kids. Phil could read it on his face and knew he had some sympathy to work with. He had to use it. It might be for naught, but he couldn’t let Clint go out like that. Not like that. He needed to do something.

“Besides, Scott,” Phil pushed. “I’m the only agent you have my teen self won’t potentially meet later on.”

“How will I know if you’re successful, Agent Coulson? What if you warn yourself and change the future again?”

“How would you have known with the other plan? If we’re all going to cease to exist, that is? Who would have been able to report back to you?”

Touche. Scott clearly hadn’t thought out all the ramifications of time travel and its timey-wimey bullshit.

“You’re going to have to operate on faith, Agent Scott. If you’ve read anything in my file, it’s that I always get the job done, no matter what the cost.”

Scott flinched at that. Phil had become legend for staring down Loki and living to tell about it. Personal issues aside, no agent had forgotten that. And so, Scott eventually relented. Phil was bundled off towards the lab where the team had assembled. He got one last look at the still unconscious Clint as he was shuffled off.

“I’ll see you in a minute, babe.”

***

Clint Barton opened his eyes and it was 1979. He double checked that he wasn't naked. The guys in R & D couldn't exactly be sure he'd be able to take inorganic material with him. Just in case, he'd had safe houses and codes from the time period memorized.

But it looked like he'd lucked out. Clint had not only arrived safely, he'd had all of his gear with him. Good. That would make this a bit easier.

Time to find his destination. With any luck, he hadn't been dropped off too far.

Clint parted the branches of some concealing bushes to reveal that he was just outside of Memorial West High School. It also gave him perfect view of two Hydra agents standing guard. Fuck. He hadn't beaten them here, then. He had one shot at this otherwise there would be no home to go back to.

Phil would have been dead for over thirty years.

He pulled out two arrows and made quick work of both of the Hydra agents, neither of them so much as twitched before Clint put them down. Clint could not even contemplate a world without Phil in it. He definitely was not thinking that at this moment in Iowa, an 8-year-old Clint Barton was being led into an orphanage. Clint was also not thinking about how there would be no one to recruit a 19-year-old Clint Barton into SHIELD instead of dispatching him.

That was why he would not fail.

He darted across the grass and knelt by the fallen Hydra bastards. Time to find out if the beacons R & D had given him would work. Clint pressed two tiny discs – hardly bigger than his thumb – to each of their foreheads. The bodies glimmered and disappeared.

Sweet. Two down. Ten to go.

The flickering lights coming from the high school drew his attention. Clint's job was to get in, get the goons, and send them back to the future, hopefully without disrupting Phil's prom. He strapped his spare quiver to his thigh and double checked the weapons he had strapped on his body. Time to start the party.

***

High schools in the seventies didn't have metal detectors or security cameras. Despite how easy that made Clint's job, that meant Phil and his classmates were sitting ducks. He also didn't have a quick way to break in and assess the situation, which he would have if there had been a security command center.

Instead the school relied on a combination of an old lady at the front doors checking tickets and a few rent-a-cops. Seriously?

He'd climbed a tree nearby to get a better view. There were a few kids under the bleachers probably high judging from the smoke snaking between the floorboards. Another couple was making out behind some cars in the lot. And there were two more Hydra goons working lookout at one of the exits. Bingo.

Clint took them out from his perch then slid down to slap on the beacons. The bodies dissipated with a hiss. It was time to go inside.

The doors were unlocked, but he didn't know if Hydra had done that, or if they'd been left open by the students who'd escaped to the bleachers. Clint tucked his bow over his shoulder and removed the smaller crossbow from its thigh holster. It was much better for close quarters, and he had no illusions about what he was walking in to.

He stepped onto lime green linoleum flooring under florescent lighting that flickered and buzzed. At least he'd be spared any wood paneling. The hallways closed in and Clint itched to get into the ventilation, but he was pretty sure that even he couldn't squeeze into those narrow vents. He'd have better luck hiding behind the doors of one of the metal lockers that seemed to go on forever.

You know, it was probably a good thing he'd skipped out on high school. This place looked like it blew.

Voices carried down the hall and he slipped into a doorway for cover. Turned out he was lucky.

"Phil, where are you going? You promised me punch!"

“I know, I will, I mean…” Young Phil stopped midsentence and listened. He could have sworn he’d heard something – two thuds of some kind had seemed to come from one of the classrooms to his left. “Did you hear that?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Phil. This is soooooo boring!”

“Shh! Carrie, this is important.”

And that was Carrie’s last straw. “No, Phil. _This_ is important. This is my _prom_ and you’ve ruined it at every point! All I wanted was a nice prom with a nice boy. We’d dance, have punch, and remember it for the rest of our lives. But you won’t even look at me! I mean, have you even looked at my dress, Phil?”

“Carrie, I…”

“This is a nice dress, Phil. My dad worked nights to get me this dress and you won’t even look at me!” She started to cry and Phil didn’t know what to do. He knew he had to investigate the squares. He knew it was important. Something in his gut told him lives were at stake. But Carrie… she’d always been a friend to him and here she was crying over something he’d done and said. Or not done and not said. Or both.  Or something. He really wasn’t sure. He just knew he’d screwed up and she was crying because of it. He never wanted to feel this again.

“Carrie, I’m sorry, I just… I have to check this out. I think it’s important.”

She let out a burst of tears and slammed a fist into his shoulder. “I hate you Philip Coulson! I hate you!” She ran off back towards the gym and Phil suddenly felt very alone in the long hallway.

***

But Phil was not alone. Clint Barton had watched the whole painful exchange from his doorway down the hall. It had been brutal to watch, but it made so much sense that Phil would be a perfect secret agent even at seventeen, prioritizing the op over everything else. Still, he’d just crushed a girl’s heart and, Clint suspected, had his own broken a bit as well. Clint wanted more than anything to go wrap baby Phil in a hug and tell him everything would be ok.

Baby Phil hesitated for a moment, looking back after Carrie, but then Clint saw him set his jaw line and knew Phil had resolved to continue. He moved purposely towards the classroom where he’d heard a noise and Clint readied a pair of arrows in case Hydra agents were waiting for him there. He didn’t like how easily baby Phil had been lured away from the others and was about start after him when he heard a light tap on the hall door behind him - not just any tap, but the ‘all clear’ tap he and Phil had worked out. Baby Phil had peeked into the classroom and seeing nothing, had moved to explore another one. There was no immediate sign of Hydra, so Clint reached back and cautiously opened the door.

Phil – his Phil – was standing there looking at him. “Come with me if you want to live.”

Clint punched him lightly in the shoulder. “You son of a bitch. I wanted to say that! That’s twice, Coulson!”

Phil beamed a smile at him and reached out to take his hand. He glanced up to make sure baby Phil was still none the wiser. Seeing the coast was clear, he looked back up into Clint’s eyes. He melted just a bit. How would he ever live without Clint?  

He pushed the thought aside after a moment’s hesitation. “Come on, Clint. We have to get out here, now.” He led Clint around the building towards a fire escape. “I took out two agents in the classroom and there are seven more on the roof. We take them out, quick and quiet, alright?”

“Seven? Wait,” Clint said as he quickly did the math. “There were thirteen agents instead of twelve?”

“Yeah. We missed one the first time round.”

“Is that why you’re here, Phil? Did the thirteenth get me and you’re here to correct it?” he asked quietly, suddenly rather aware of his own mortality.

Phil squeezed his hand. “No, you got him. I’ll explain in a minute, but first we have to take these guys out.”

***

Baby Phil peered into classroom after classroom, expecting the boogey man to jump out at any point, but as he reached the end of the hallway, embarrassment began to take hold instead. He had convinced himself there was something going on, that these squares had somehow represented a threat to him and everyone at the prom, but as room after room proved empty, he’d begun to question what he was doing. Had he imagined it all just to get out of dancing with Carrie?

He sat down on a desk and absently brushed a speck of dirt off the knees of his powder blue tux. He thought back over the day’s events. The squares in the gym. He’d spotted two of them when he and Carrie had first arrived and he’d immediately concealed himself among the crowd to better observe them without being easily observed himself.

They’d stood out to him because he’d seen them earlier that day. He’d spotted the first when he’d gone to pick up the tux. The square had been standing across the road watching him, but Phil didn’t think too much of it at the time. But then he’d spotted a second watcher while Carrie was attempting to pin his boutonnière.  The goon was sitting in a car parked just a little behind Phil’s and clearly must have been following him. That got the alarm bells started. When he’d finally spotted the two in the gym, he knew it must be serious. He also knew he was right to trust his gut. He had to find these guys and he had to call his dad. He got up to get to the phone in the main office.

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked a loud and angry voice in the hallway. Carrie’s brother – her very large, football playing brother – stepped up to fill the doorway.

“Jim… hey, man….” was all Phil got out before Jim punched him in the face. He went stumbling backward into the classroom and crashed through two desks before hitting the floor.

“Don’t give me that, you piece of shit. My sister’s in there crying her eyes out. So I’m going to give you something to cry about, too.” He moved in and grabbed Phil by the lapels. He lifted him in one easy move and threw him back against the classroom windows. One of the windows swung just a bit as he hit it and Phil knew it was unlocked. He lashed out and kicked furiously, connecting with Jim’s knee.

In his head, he’d imagined Jim would buckle over like in a cartoon, letting him go and giving him a chance to escape out the window. Instead, Jim just hit him against the window frame a second, harder time. Phil went with the momentum this time, though, and pushed back against the unlocked window. It swung open and he leveraged his bony ass to hang outside it.

“Where are you going, you little shit?” Jim asked while realizing Phil’s weight was becoming too awkward to hold. He let Phil drop and rushed to get to the hallway door and outside.

Phil plopped down onto the black top below and scrambled to get to his feet. Jim would reach the door and swing around towards him any second. His instinct was to run and hide, but then he thought about the Cap. What would Captain America do in a situation like this?

Cap never ran from his problems. Cap knew the value of honor. Cap didn’t start fights, but he didn’t walk away from them either. Phil knew he had hurt Carrie tonight. Unintentionally or no, he figured he earned this meeting with Jim.  Now it was up to him to face it. So he clenched his fists and stood his ground. He waited for Jim to turn the corner.  

***

Phil and Clint stood on the roof, surrounded by seven dead bodies.  They’d made real quick work of the Hydra agents, but then again they’d had the advantage of Phil having been there before. Phil pushed six beacons into six foreheads and watched them disappear. Clint moved to dispatch the last goon, but Phil put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Hold on a sec, Clint. We need to talk first.”

Clint looked at him with a lot of confusion. “We need to talk before we send back the last goon?” Phil nodded and Clint found he was becoming more nervous than confused. “What happened, Phil? Why are you here?”

Phil smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but it just seemed to alarm Clint, so he stopped, took the beacon from him, and held his hand instead.

“Phil? You’re scaring the hell out of me. What’s going on?”

“We changed the future, Clint. We didn’t mean to, but we did. They sent me back to make sure you didn’t run into the younger me this time.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out just how to say what needed to be said. “My being here tonight, taking out the Hydra agents with you… I’ve already changed events from the way I remember them. They’re little changes that will grow over time and change the future in a big way. At least, that’s the plan.”

Clint cursed under his breath as realization settled in. “And that’s why you haven’t gotten rid of the last guy. Once he’s gone, the mission is over and the future is different.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

They stood quietly for a moment, neither one sure what to say. Clint couldn’t quite meet Phil’s eyes.

“And what happens to us?” he asked after a few moments.

“We disappear,” Phil answered quietly.  Another pause as the reality hit Clint.

“Then let’s run. Let’s go somewhere and disappear. We’re good at that. We can hide and live out our time here,” he said desperately.

“And what, carry the body around with us?”

“Yes! Like it’s that hard. Or bury it, I don’t care. Just don’t send it back.”

“We have to, Clint.”

“Why? Give me one good reason why we have to instead of staying here and being happy.”

Phil reached up and softly touched his face. He could see the tears beginning to well in Clint’s eyes and leaned in to slowly kiss him. Then he lingered, holding his forehead to Clint’s, squeezing his eyes tight against the tears he could feel forming in his own eyes. For all of the world, he wanted this. Nothing in his life had ever made him feel whole the way Clint did. Phil had spent his life as an outsider, never really fully accepted by anyone. He’d been feared and he’d been respected, but he’d never been loved. Not until Clint. Clint understood him and filled up every broken part of his life.

“Tell me why we can’t have this, Phil,” Clint breathed, quietly. “Why do they get to win? Why is their future so important? Aren’t we important?”

Whether they met as teenagers or no, Phil knew what they had was special and important. Suddenly the idea of running with Clint seemed like a very good, very real option. Teams would come after them, sure, but they were good at running. They were good at fighting. They could hold out for the rest of their lives, maybe.

“There you are, you little shit,” came echoing up at them from the blacktop below. They both moved to look over the edge and down at baby Phil, who stood ready to square off against an enormous looking teenager.

Clint readied an arrow but Phil held out a restraining hand. He recognized the fighting stance baby Phil had adopted as one from a Captain America poster and he knew what must be going through baby Phil’s mind. “No, wait” he said.

“Phil, he’s… you’re…  going to get destroyed down there.”

“I know.” There was something about baby Phil’s posture that gave him pause. Then it slowly dawned on him what the kid must be thinking. “Let it happen, Clint. I think this is going to be important.”

***

Baby Phil knew nothing about fighting outside of what he’d seen on tv or in comic books. But Captain America hadn’t either before he’d joined the army, and he’d survived plenty of fights. Phil just had to keep his cool. He knew Jim wasn’t a bad guy, just someone trying to protect his little sister. Phil had to get in Jim’s head and give him an option other than fighting.

Jim strode purposely towards him and Phil held his ground. He looked Jim in the eye and swallowed hard. This was going to hurt if it went wrong.

“Jim, hold on,” he said in a voice far calmer than he actually felt. “I need to go apologize to Carrie and I’d rather do it with my jaw intact.”

Jim hesitated at Phil’s calm presence and Phil worked with the moment. He relaxed his hands and opened them wide so Jim could see he wasn’t a threat and then took a careful step towards him.

“Jim, I know I screwed up tonight and I know you want to hurt me right now, but let me go apologize to Carrie first. Let me tell her I’m sorry. Then if you still want to, you can beat me up. I won’t even try to stop you.”

Jim was clearly trying to figure out why Phil wasn't running away in terror.  

Phil held up his hands. “We both know I’m not going to get away. You’re definitely going to be able to find me wherever I go. And I feel really awful about tonight. I want to make things right. And besides,” Phil continued, taking another careful step towards Jim, “we both know you’ll win. And you’ll get my blood all over your tux. And that’ll probably gross out Meghan.”

Phil had a feeling Meghan’s name, Jim’s girlfriend, would get through his rage thinking fog like a beacon. Everyone knew Meghan hated blood. She fainted at the sight of it. Jim’s weight shifted back onto his heels as he seemed to think about that, too. Phil wanted to keep him thinking.

“So, actually, I’d like to go inside and apologize to Meghan, too. I’m sure this isn’t how she wanted her evening to go.”

Jim considered things for a long moment and Phil found he was really glad Jim was sober enough to do so.

“What do you say, Jim? Can I go back inside and make things right with them?”

“You made my sister cry, you little shit. You owe her one hell of an apology,” Jim said, still very angry but less violently so.

Phil went with it, taking a few more steps to come within arm’s reach of Jim. “I know. Let’s go back inside and find Carrie and Meghan. I’ll apologize and then you guys can go off with the evening you had planned.”

Jim nodded, rage transitioning slowly towards calmer thinking.

“I’ll even get the pizza,” Phil said, extending a hand towards Jim. Every ounce of his strength was channeled into not letting that hand shake.

Jim looked at it and then up at Phil. After a moment, he shook Phil’s hand. “Yeah… ok. You apologize to Carrie and make it right. If she stops crying, I’ll let you live another day.”

“OK, Jim. That’s sounds like a good plan.”

Phil led the way back into the school. Jim was only a few steps behind, but Phil walked with confidence. He was pretty sure he’d handled that the right way. He hadn’t run and he had found a smarter way to handle the situation than fighting. Maybe there was a kind of power in being able to think through a battle.

***

“Aw, Phil…” Clint said, looking down on baby Phil’s thin form. “Even as a kid you were a badass.”

Phil smiled and then pulled Clint back from the edge. He took a deep breath as he became more certain of what he'd just witnessed. That kid down there - the Phil who was to be – had made a decision not to run away even though that had been in his best interest. Instead, he’d squared off against a hulk and talked his way out of a fight. Phil knew it was a decision he would have made, too, and so, knew that even if the future would be different, he wouldn't be.

“You sound like you’re surprised.”

Clint shook his head. “No. It just makes you… even better. Let’s run, Phil. Let’s get out of here and away from all this. I can protect us.”

Now it was Phil’s turn to shake his head. “I know you can. But we’re not going to run.”

“Why not?”

“Because of that kid down there.”

“The one who nearly got his ass kicked?”

Phil smiled at that. “Yes, the one who nearly got his ass kicked. That was important, down there tonight. That’s going to be a part of my new future. And I think we’re going to be ok.”

“How can you be sure?” Clint asked with a slight sniffle. He really was fucking adorable sometimes. Phil reached over and kissed him again.

“Do you trust me, Clint?”

“You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I tell you there is no scenario where we don’t find each other.” He kissed him again and held him tightly. Clint responded in kind and wrapped his muscled arms around Phil. He drew him tight, holding on for dear life. Phil felt a warm tear fall against his neck.

“Everything’s going to be ok, Clint.”

“I love you, Phil.”

“I love you, Clint. I will find you. I promise.” He kissed Clint as if it was their last. Tears of his own fell as he dropped the last beacon on the Hydra agent.

***

Baby Phil got home late and sat up in his room until the wee hours, calm and quiet with his thoughts. He thought about the squares, about Carrie and Jim, about every miscalculation he’d made that day. What would he have actually done if he’d faced one of the squares tonight? He’d been able to talk to Jim because he understood him, at least, a bit. What if he’d been up against trained fighters? Would he have even survived the night?

He didn’t know anything about fighting. It was pathetic to think he’d have been able to protect himself let alone anyone else. He had to stop living in a fantasy world. He had to grow up and start thinking about the kind of man he wanted to become. And after tonight, he was pretty sure he knew what that kind of man was.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out the Captain America trading card he always carried. Cap, in army uniform, walked confidently forward with no weapon in hand, just a shield. This was what Phil wanted to be. He wanted to be the kind of man who could protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. And he knew there had to be a way to do it without being the biggest, strongest, or most heavily armed guy in the room. He just needed to learn how.

He went to his desk and tossed all the college acceptance letters he’d been considering. At first light, he’d head to the army recruiter.

***

Ten years later, Phil was just testing out his new responsibilities as a lead S.H.I.E.L.D. agent when he came across a nineteen year old thug named Clint Barton. Phil had been sent to assess Clint’s potential and found there was something indescribably special about him. He had a grit and determination to survive despite, well, everything in his life that deeply impressed Phil. And as a bonus, Clint had an almost supernatural ability with a bow and arrow.

But could he ever be an agent? If the answer was yes, he was to recruit him. If the answer was no, then he was to eliminate him as a potential threat. He’d been sent to pick Clint up, but that mission had quickly changed to one of search and rescue.

Clint had been taken by mob hit men and Phil had allowed himself to be taken too, in order to see with his own eyes how Clint would react. He wanted to see if there were any brains behind the bow. As soon as the goons had left them, Phil undid his bonds in an overly elaborate manner meant to impress Clint and then turned to face him.

“You got some fancy ass moves to match your fancy pants, suit man?"

Phil stared at him. ‘Brains’ might be a bit of a stretch, but he definitely had ‘smart ass’ going for him in spades. Phil liked a smart ass. They tended to make good agents. He pulled his hidden knife and cut Clint loose. Then he handed him the knife.

“Alright, Clint. Impress me. Get us out of here.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “You know my name?”

“I know quite a bit about you, Mr. Barton. And now I’d like to see if you’re capable of taking care of yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I represent an organization that would be interested in your talents if you are.”

Clint considered that for a second and said “ok.”

“Ok, what, Mr. Barton?”

“Ok, I’ll join your team.”

Phil stared at him. “I haven’t offered you the job yet. And I haven’t told you anything about the organization. Don’t you think you ought know that kind of information before you volunteer?”

Clint shrugged. “Nah, it’s cool. You haven’t hit me, drugged me, or threatened my dog. And in the first ten seconds of meeting me, you untied me and gave me a knife. And now you want me to show off for you instead of just bundling me off, so… I’m guessing you guys are more white hat than my current employers, so, yeah… I’m in.”

Phil looked at him and reconsidered his brains assessment.

“But as for getting us out of here? No can do, suit man. I’m not a ninja. I do heights, not confined spaces.”

Clint handed him back the knife and Phil smiled. He did like this Clint Barton. He had unconventional smarts and an accurate awareness of his skill sets. Phil could definitely train him.

“Alright then, Mr. Barton. Come with me if you want to live.”

"You're misquoting Terminator? A man after my own heart." Barton winked at him.

Phil held himself still. It would be inappropriate at this point for Barton to know what those gorgeous blue-green eyes did for Phil.

“Just follow my lead, Mr. Barton.”

“Sure, Suit Man. And maybe you can throw in dinner, later, huh?”

***

 

 

 


End file.
